The Flip Side

Open Letter To President Obama #3

          Never say it’s gotten as bad as it can and couldn’t possibly get worse, because that is usually a self-fulfilling prophecy. But honestly, I am shocked and disgusted at the turn of events in the past few days regarding the National Security Administration’s domestic spying. Spying is an extremely strong word with the negative connotation that goes with it. But to quote Shakespeare, “A rose is a rose, by any other name.”

          And tracking citizen’s internet records and phone calls is exactly what it sounds like; our government is spying on its own citizens and has been doing so for decades, with most of us blissfully ignorant, believing we live in a free nation and are not subject to the indignities suffered by citizens of other countries. It turns out that in regards to the sanctity of our own homes, we are all in the same boat, whether we live in Iran, North Korea, Syria or the United States of America. Wow, I never thought I would ever compare our right to privacy to that of individuals who live in dictatorships. It’s as if we are living the lives of the East Germans in the film The Lives Of Others that documented the Stassi’s (Secret Police) surveillance of its citizens and frankly that scares the crap out of me.

          But, even more frightening, is the reaction to the Whistle Blower. Instead of being hailed as a patriot and a hero, he is being vilified as a traitor and a spy. Spy? I think the news has confused him with the NSA, as we are all aware of who the spy is and that is our own government. The focus should be on the importance and relevance of the message, rather than the messenger, as it is a distraction from the real issue, the erosion of our right to privacy in our own homes, guaranteed by the constitution of the United States of America.

          This man was forced to seek asylum and, ironically, is being sheltered by China, who recently was chastised by the U.S. for failing to stop theft of intellectual property, i.e., industrial espionage. Sound familiar?

           Whistle Blowers are crucial to a democracy and need to be protected, lest people be too fearful to call attention to grievous misconduct or dangerous situations or practices. They protect all of us and we would be much more vunerable without them.

          What would have happened if no one called attention to the dumping of chemicals and resulting health problems in Love Canal, the safety problems at several US nuclear facilities, the Valerie Plame scandal or the tobacco companies concealment of the dangers of smoking which contributed to the deaths of countless Americans? These are just a few examples of instances where courageous individuals have stepped forward, driven by their conscience and a sense of civic responsibility, to inform and protect us.

     But if the reaction to them is anything like the response to Ed Snowdon, I worry that people will think long and hard before they take such a stand in the future. You, our government, is creating a climate of fear. Many horrible crimes against humanity have been committed in a national frenzy driven by fear and ignorance. Standing silent in the wake of injustice, due to intimidation and apprehensiveness about reprisal is no way to live, especially in a country founded on the principals of freedom and individual rights.

 

 

 

 

 

Open Letter To President Obama #2

 

Every day I question whom I have elected to the highest office in the nation. Your positions and actions get more bizarre by the day. It’s as if you have been replaced by a Doppelganger, one who is a right wing, war mongering, anti environmental, benefits cutting, corporate supporting, conservative.

 

I was a Hilary supporter in the beginning, but your easy manner, glib talk and empty promises seduced me. I should have known that you were made by the Chicago political machine, and therefore, in heart and mind a politician, with many to answer to. Unfortunately, that does not seem to be your constituents, the people who worked tirelessly day after day, week after week and month after month to elect and then guarantee you a second term.

 

I frankly don’t know why I stood on a street corner every Saturday for months to support your campaign, as I now realize that it was a total waste of my time and skills. My efforts would have been better spent reading to an individual in a care center, tutoring students in basic skills or giving respite to the parent of a handicapped child. Time is precious and not to be squandered.

 

Your offenses add up until it’s such a large heap that no one can see over or around it; drone strikes on innocent men, women and children, our boys still dying in Afghanistan in a conflict we can’t win and now serves no purpose, clean coal-who are we kidding, and putting Social Security and Medicare on the chopping block, and by doing this, screwing over the 99% one more time.

 

And if that isn’t enough, now you’ve found one more thing you can take away from us, the most precious entitlement in this country and what we have fought and died for over many generations. What, you ask, is so precious? Our privacy, which is equivalent to our freedom, in other words our civil liberties. Today in a speech, you supported government monitoring of our private phone calls The reason, of course is security, but I’m not willing to give away my hard fought for rights that easily.

 

Who in their right mind would want any government official monitoring whom you talk to and the length of your conversations? In this day and age of telemarketing and blocked numbers, it is impossible to screen your calls and avoid unwanted solicitations. What if one of these random calls is from an organization or person on the government watch list?

 

But more importantly, allowing this is opening the door to further intrusions on our privacy. Once the government can track the source and length of our phone calls, will they then say it’s essential to monitor the content? It seems prudent not to even open this door a crack, lest it prove to be a Pandora’s box.

 

I’m begging you to put a stop to this intrusive practice immediately. It has been hard times for many years in this country and millions of people have lost everything. At least help us preserve our dignity, with a right to privacy in our homes, left in tact.

Magic In Diamond/ A Wealth Of Blessings

 

Paul and I just returned from a four night mini vacation in Diamond, Oregon. Diamond is located in the farthest southeast corner of Oregon, about as far as you can go without crossing into Nevada. It is adjacent to the Malheur Wildlife Refuge and is part of the Great Basin, a high plateau area unique because of its mix of ecosystems: high desert, sage and marsh, bordered by the Steens Mountain and the Jackass Mountain Range.

 

Some would say it is out in the middle of nowhere. Why travel for at least six hours through remote country to get there? Those who have been and return over and over again can answer your question. It is truly a magical place, unique unto itself, a place to observe, listen, learn and reflect. In simple terms, it grounds me.

 

The town of Diamond is made up of a few ranches, a K-8 school and a hotel, Hotel Diamond, located at the end of Diamond Lane. It is a historic hotel run by the Thompson family, a fifth generation ranching family in Harney County. Many come to enjoy the rural setting, bird watch and partake of the delicious family style meals served in the evening. Evening supper at the hotel is an enjoyable mix of great food, diverse people and lively conversation.

 

We love our evenings at the hotel, but prefer staying at McCoy Creek down the road. The hotel has a one-room bunkhouse and the old ranch house for rent. We always stay in the little yellow house on the rise overlooking the pasture on the edge of the canyon. I love being there and never tire of the opportunity to experience life on a working cattle ranch. There is an entire world to enjoy just by looking out the front picture window. If I were a lazy person, I could sit in the yard and have an amazing vacation, just watching the goings on in my view. Early mornings are my favorite, at first light, glancing out the window to see what the day’s first revelation will be. That initial glimpse is a teaser, a little taste of what a day exploring the nature reserve will bring, incredible sights, sounds and experiences to treasure for a lifetime.

 

Every stay at Diamond holds special memories, but this year the experience was intensified. It was as if the universe had granted us a one time only dispensation, a special pass granting unlimited access to the natural world, with nothing held back or hidden from view.

 

Our journey felt different from the beginning, starting with the long drive over. It was precipitated by a conscious choice. Instead of pausing at the river for a break, I lobbied to stop at the Warm Springs Reservation Market, a place I haven’t visited in at least 10 years. True to form, I had a hidden agenda. An iced coffee is delicious, but traditional Native American beadwork bags were the real draw.

 

As we entered the store, we walked past a rather down-on-his-luck looking man. For some reason he caught my attention, so I gave him a passing smile. He looked back at me, square in the eye and said quietly, “I’m going to bless you.”  He touched the back of my right hand to his forehead and then to mine.  It may seem naive, but I was genuinely moved by his simple gesture, so touched that I didn’t wash the back of my hand for the rest of the day, not wanting to squander his gift.

 

We left the store and were not on the main road for more than two minutes when an eagle swooped down in front of our car, scooping up a large branch in his talons.  I was stunned, having never been so close to such a magnificent creature. My body was shaking, literally vibrating with excitement and it was several minutes before I returned to reality. The magic of that quiet blessing had begun and would continue to shape our journey in the most wonderful way.

 

Later that afternoon, we were a couple of miles past The Narrows (a gas and grocery stop on the refuge), when we saw an unusual sight.  It was fresh road-kill, but not just any road-kill.  There was a brown fur lump on the gravel shoulder, which proved to be a marmot upon closer examination. He laid spread eagle on his back with all four legs straight up in the air, an expression of sheer terror on his face. There was, however, not a mark on him. It was as if he had frozen in time at the moment he saw the oncoming headlights, literally scared to death. We continued on our way without taking a picture, because we were late for dinner at the Hotel Diamond.  Unfortunately, when we returned the next day, he had vanished, the photo of a lifetime missed.

 

We hurried on our way, hungry, tired and anxious to reach our destination, our objective being a delicious dinner, well deserved after such a long drive. But as we turned onto Diamond Lane, our thoughts of dinner evaporated as we rounded the curve, when an odd and weirdly wonderful sight greeted us. Right in front of us, there on the side of the road, sat two Turkey Vultures, side by side on rather large rocks.  They were hunched over, looking much like a macabre cartoon by Charles Addams, but also rather like an old married couple enjoying the sunset on their front porch swing. It seemed only fitting to christen them Fred and Ethel. 

 

After a delicious dinner at the hotel, I decided to go out in search of owls.  The other birders had told me that no owls had been spotted at the hotel this year.  I decided to call, using my own voice, since my I Phone with the app Chirp self-destructed before our trip.  I should have felt foolish, standing out in the dark with the mosquitoes eating me alive, while I called, “Hoo-hoo hoo-hoo.”  But for some reason, it just felt right.  I was soon rewarded with an echo from the trees on the lane, and then the guy on the hillside chimed in. Soon, we were all happily calling in unison.  Apparently the owl in the lane was convinced of my sincerity, because he flew in to meet me.  Unfortunately for both of us, our budding affair was doomed, as we were not species compatible. 

 

Early the next morning, I looked out the ranch house window and saw, yet another incredible sight. There were dozens of Ibis standing in the pasture mixed in with the chickens and peacocks.  The large stork-like birds were eagerly grazing on some delicacy, their glossy coats shining in the morning sunlight.  I speculated that it was a new hatch of slugs, as the pasture was a sloppy mess; the ground saturated with water.  Ibis proved to be efficient gleaners and over the next few days rid the pasture of pests.  The worked for free, unlike my children, who I used to pay a nickel a slug.

 

Each day we marveled at our luck, as more incredible experiences were revealed to us. Like all good yarns, I’ve saved the best for last. 

 

When we drove through the green gate on our first night at the ranch, we noticed two new horses, not an unusual sight for a working cattle ranch. I decided to make friends with them. The next morning, I cut up two apples so I could offer them a treat when we left for our day’s wanderings. I was surprised when they turned their heads and walked away, clearly refusing my offering. Horses on the ranch had always been affectionate and friendly in the past. Undeterred, I got back in the car and offered the treats from the relative safety of an open window, but they still shied away. They were having none of it, shunning me as if I was the old hag in Snow White offering them a poison apple.  The rancher, Dan, noticed my puzzled expression and explained that Saturday had been a workday and today was their day off.  They were not taking any chances, lest anyone get close enough to put a bridle on them. They were young and unaccustomed to ranch life and the long demanding workdays. A day of freedom was too dear a price to pay for a mere apple.

 

Tuesday morning, we awoke to the sight of a few Ibis scrounging the last of the slugs.  Then out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the two young horses.  It was a magnificent sight as they galloped full tilt with their manes blowing in the wind.  It reminded me of a scene straight out of the movie Black Beauty.  The noble romantic sight soon turned comic, however, as I realized the horses were not running with sheer joy and abandon, but away from their nemesis, work, and the symbol, a man with a bridle in his hand, which meant one thing – it would be a long, hot day in the canyon with a saddle and a heavy load on your back. 

 

But as we all know, work is inevitable.  And in the end, they were captured.  You have to admire their spunk, as they put up a good fight, finally being corralled by the man with the bridle, assisted by two dogs, and a man on a motorcycle.  To add to their indignity, they were relegated to the paddock for the evening, where they would be easier to catch the next morning.  The other five horses, trained to understand the rigors of ranch work, obedient and willing, had the pasture to themselves.  The two youngsters had to watch them frolic in the pond and munch the green grass. I wonder if they’ll take a little easier to the bridle next time.

 

 

The road to the ranch is a well-traveled dirt road with potholes, the occasional boulder and gravel.  The first night, when we returned after dinner, we noticed a Killdeer running in front of our car, leading us down the road.  The next morning, the little bird greeted us at the exact same bend in the road. Odd, I thought, but then I remembered that Killdeer nest in gravel, in shallow holes in the ground.  Every single time we drove down the road, the vigilant little bird would greet us, skittering down the path, leading us away from her precious nest.  I have never seen a more dedicated mother, as she never failed to appear.  One time when we stopped to take a photo, I think she felt particularly threatened, so she added the Wounded Bird routine to her usual act.  She limped and spread her feathers out, feigning a broken wing.  We never paused again, fearful that we would cause her to have a nervous breakdown.  As we left today, she gave us a send-off, almost as if she recognized the car.  Instead of leading us away, she simply fluttered to the side of the road and bobbed her head, as if to say, “See you later.”

 

As we drove down the road toward Burns this morning, our departure was strangely anticlimactic.  After so many amazing sights we were greeted with an absence, there was simply nothing out there.  I didn’t want to be greedy, but secretly thought, Just one more amazing sight. We rounded a curve and there it was before my eyes, hundreds of sheep with their new lambs being driven down the highway to their summer grazing land. We inched along among them, our car in a sea of sheep, as I eagerly snapped pictures.  Too soon, it was over. 

 

I thought back to the Warm Springs Market and the quiet man who had given me his blessing. I remembered asking the storeowner if it was good to get a blessing from a Native.  His answer: “It depends on who blessed you.”  I choose to think that it is not only the blessing, but also more importantly, the willingness to accept it.  I’m glad that on that day I was able to suspend disbelief and open my heart to receive a truly precious gift from a generous stranger.

 

My Mean Mistress PD Is No Fairy Godmother

Went out to cocktails last night for a friend’s birthday and was so grateful. Why, you ask? Well, my mean Mistress PD caused a freeze up minutes before I was supposed to leave. I tried not to panic, but all I could think was What if I can’t walk into the bar on my own power and I have to use my walker? Luckily, my meds took effect just as we pulled into the parking lot. I was still shaky, but managed to totter in on my own power hanging on to Paul’s elbow to steady me. I imagined that people might look at us and think Isn’t that sweet? They’re still in love. He escorted me to a chair, I ordered a drink and played the role of a woman leisurely enjoying her beverage after a long day. I’ve become a consummate actress, my only purpose being to conceal my disability, at all costs.

 

Wait a minute, haven’t I written before about acceptance? I have to confess that I’m not quite there. It may be partially my age, as I’m 56 and don’t associate that number with a person inching along, clinging to their walker. The folks I see with walkers are elderly, and most are in their 80’s, grey, wrinkled and frail.

 

This is not the vision I have of myself. After all, I love dive bars, juke boxes, platform shoes, a well poured cocktail, classic funk, rock and a little punk and late night forays to Voodoo Doughnuts or Cartopia on 12^th and Hawthorne. To me, two songs by Prince say it all; Let’s Go Crazy and Party like It’s 1999. A walker just isn’t part of the picture.

 

Back to the birthday party, where I was feeling smug, thinking I had it beat. My Mean Mistress had retreated to her lair and I calculated that I could get home before I geeked out again. People made noises about leaving and I was hopeful that I could at least get to my close friend’s car before the predictable I’m Exhausted Night Time Freeze Up. I looked at the time and thought Oh I have fifteen minutes left. But that is the true bitch about PD, as she either can’t tell time or doesn’t give a damn. Because at that very moment, I felt my legs stiffening and knew immediately that there was no way I was getting out of that bar unscathed.  I tried to signal to my ride that we should exit last, a strategy I’ve used more times that I can count, but she didn’t get my secret message.

 

I felt like Cinderella at the ball, panicking as she realizes she has missed her curfew, fleeing in haste and leaving her slipper behind in the process. I would have been glad to lose a slipper, even one of my new orange platforms, but my consequence for tardiness was much stiffer. I wobbled out of the bar on my wonky legs, struggling to stay in an upright position, fearing that my legs would buckle and I would end upon the floor in full view of everyone there. My eyes were fixed on the exit, salvation, as escape was near, when I ran smack dab in to the owner, a friend, who had never seen me in such a state before. His face said it all and I mumbled something about Parkinson’s.  At that point, the ruse was over and I exited, leaving my dignity to fend for herself.

 

Lest you advocates for the disabled are horrified by my insensitive statement, you’ll have to excuse my lapse in political correctness. After all, I am disabled, so I‘ve earned the right to talk about it on my terms. Rationally, I know a walker doesn’t diminish my dignity. It just feels that like that. I am a proud, stubbornly independent woman. My biggest fear is that I will be perceived as weak and failing, and therefore, an object of pity. I know this is primarily a perception of my own making, but one I think most people with a physical disability share. We want to be seen as our former selves, not the vulnerable incarnation that even we do not recognize at times.

 

So, let’s make a pact. I will strive to go with the flow and work on my perceptions of disability if you agree to look beyond peoples’ obvious physical challenges to see the person behind the mask. We’re just like you, with a little twist. To shamelessly steal from Cyndi Lauper, Geeks Just Wanna Have Fun!

Life Lesson #1/Kindness/Kylie's Legacy

    Yesterday started rough, but actually rough doesn't begin to describe it. Just over a week ago, my long time friend had the unthinkable happen when her 11-year-old granddaughter died suddenly in a tragic accident. Death is something we all struggle with, so final and hard to accept under any circumstances. But when a death is unexpected and totally random, it is magnified beyond belief, the shock taking your breath away. One minute they are there and in a blink, they are gone, forever. 

    I remember when my mother-in-law died 24 years ago, the memory so fresh, as if it happened yesterday.  Bob and Jamie had been at our house, not 30 minutes before, and then, poof, she was gone. The raw hurt has passed, but sadness lingers, along with all of my good memories, the qualities I loved in her. My favorite was her wicked sense of humor, razor sharp and bordering on the macabre, something I grew to appreciate and adopt as my own. Jamie's favorite saying was from Pollyanna, a sweet film with a little edge. Reverend Paul is giving his Sunday sermon, opening with an attention grabber, "Death comes unexpectedly." It wasn't the quote but Karl Malden's deadpan, comic delivery that made her chuckle every time. Ironic, but truth, as life can and does change in a fraction of a second.

    And that is something we were all reminded of yesterday morning at Kylie's memorial service, life is fleeting, to be lived fully with gusto and appreciation. In other words, grab hold of life and squeeze it to the last sweet drop.

    We got to know Kylie just a bit from her father's eulogy and through the anecdotes of her classmates and friends. Listening to the children talk about their dear friend was heartbreaking in the moment and at the same time, inspiring and life affirming. Kylie, everyone agreed, was a people person who just loved life, friendly to all, always being the first to greet newcomers with, "Hi, I'm Kylie.’’ a loyal friend, the peacemaker who mitigated disputes, helpful to everyone with an innate sense of who was in need, a kind and gentle spirit, cheerful, funny, caring, in short, the nicest girl you'd be lucky to meet.

    There is no way to make sense of the senseless, so I decided it would be fitting to do something nice for someone, ala Kylie, in the course of the day. What, I didn't know?

    As we walked out of the church, there was a lovely surprise, blue sky and sun. A beautiful day is a shame to waste, so we got in the car, driving into the countryside, with no particular destination or plan. I love a car ride in the early spring, as it may be chilly outside, but the car is bliss, with the sun's warmth radiating through the windows. It's like a mobile greenhouse, a solarium on wheels.

    The countryside was bucolic, farms, orchards, wine grapes, trees, trees, trees, and my favorite, a herd of Nubian goats, with their sweet faces and long silky ears.

    The drive would have been more than enough, but we were lucky to stumble on the community of Scholls, a small town, reminding me of my youth. We stopped at the Women's Society plant sale at the Elementary School, as I love rural community events and sales. It did not disappoint, with a Little League game by the parking lot, friendly women, interesting plants and a Porta Potty, all within walking distance. What more could a girl ask for?

    In my case, an inside tip on the event at the local Grange, aptly titled, Burgers and Books.  We drove down the road in search of the Grange, rounded a curve and there it was, an old white building, sign in front, Grange Hall.

     Not sure of the official entrance, we chose the back door. I took a half step and wham, I found myself chest to chest with a buxom women in a starched white apron. Oops, wrong door, I thought. I apologized profusely, stammering, "Sorry, I guess I came in the wrong door." The woman smiled broadly and assured me, "No, honey, you came in exactly the right door." I have never felt so welcome in my entire lifetime. It was a step back in time for me, back to the McMinnville of my youth, surrounded by the Just Plain Folks my parents called friends. I was eight all over again, sitting at Odell's Gas Station, listening to my dad and Mr. Odell shoot the breeze on a Friday afternoon. Usually a drink was involved, with Mr. Odell offering me a bottle of coke, a rare treat. The grown ups' bottle was of another sort, emerging from the desk's bottom drawer.

     Back to Saturday at the Scholls Grange where yet another memory revealed itself to me, a pie case filled with homemade slices of pie, what I call Old Lady Pie, the highest culinary compliment given. Blinded by the dazzling selection and with my mind on one objective only, PIE, I stumbled up and proceeded to order, or to order Sharon style, changing my mind at least ten times, while grilling the server about the best choice. I then heard a polite voice say quietly to her friend, " I thought we were next." Looking up, my fears were confirmed. I had crowded in front of two old ladies in my haste, the ultimate faux pas. I was already clutching my piece of Grape Chiffon Pie in my hand, so what now?

     I stepped forward and said, " I'd like to pay for all three slices." The ladies frowns turned into smiles and I heard them telling the cashier what a nice person I was. I couldn't take the credit, explaining how I’d spent my morning.

          It was a small gesture, insignificant in the big picture, but I can't help thinking that the world would be a better place if we were all just a bit more caring, thoughtful and kind. It’s never to late to learn, in this case, from the fine example set by Kylie, an eleven-year-old girl, whose kindness will not be forgotten.  

Open Letter To Obama/ Keep your Promises Or It's D-I-V-O-R-C-E

            Obama you just broke my heart again today and this time may be the final straw. You’ve disappointed me before, and I’ve broken up with you, but I have always taken you back. You’re such a smooth talker and so convincing, but aren’t all politicians?

            I’ve forgiven you for not standing with the state workers in Wisconsin, for prolonging the war in Afghanistan, for failing to close Guantanamo Bay, for signing the law that gives the Executive Branch the power to detain a US citizen indefinitely if they are suspected of terrorism, for ordering drone strikes that kill innocent women and children, and in one case, a US citizen, for giving up on single payer health insurance and taxing my coverage to pay for others in the Obama Plan and for knuckling under to the Republicans more times than I can count and hurting the poor and middle class in the process.

            I was so disgusted with you before November’s Election that I was not going to vote for you, the lesser of two evils, a crappy choice at best. But then came Romney, just too crazy and completely out of touch with reality and the global community. My husband assured me that your second term would be different, that you would have no reason not to go for it and finally keep your promises.

            It looked hopeful in the beginning, but as the months pass, I feel as though it’s déjà vu all over again. The Republicans are continuing to hold the country hostage while you attempt to negotiate. You have forgotten the most important rule of bargaining. You cannot reach a compromise with people that are not willing to give a little. If you offer a concession without demanding one in return, it is seen as weakness. They will ask for more and more, giving nothing back. In the end you will have given away the store and have nothing to show for all your hard work

            And that is precisely what is happening with the budget now. You have put Social Security cost of living raises and Medicare eligibility on the table.  Who does that hurt? The members of our society that are already living on the edge, struggling to keep their chins above water and stay afloat in the rising tide.  People are barely making it and now they are supposed to make it on less.

            Seth D. Harris, your acting Secretary of Labor was quoted as saying that the cuts are not so bad. People will just change their spending habits and buy hamburger instead of steak. I’m not sure what planet he’s on, but in this economy, most folks are lucky to have hamburger. And many are eating beans and rice. What’s the economical substitute for that? I hear Marie Antoinette  (Let them eat cake) calling and I’m wondering if it’s time to storm the Bastille.

            So President Obama, if you’re listening, please take Social Security and Medicare off the table and stand up for the 99%. We supported you and now it’s time to keep your promises. A man is only as good as his word and I only keep company with men of integrity. I’ll be anxiously awaiting your reply and hope you are the person I believed you were, because if not, this time it’s D-I-V-O-R-C-E.  Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. And trust me, I’m no fool.

Hidden Treasure #1/ Shane

            I’ve written many times about looking beyond the surface to discover the hidden treasure below. In my daily life, I have encountered many interesting people that deserve a second look, as their lives are rich, intriguing and hold more than a few surprises.

             Shane, who I first encountered at my Dance For Parkinson’s Class, is one of those folks. On first glance, he is a tall, rather gangly fellow with impossibly long, skinny legs. His hair is graying and fashioned into neat dreads. He wears wire rimmed glasses, ala John Lennon. But his most memorable feature by far is his smile, small but all encompassing, kind and welcoming, inviting you to get to know him, to dig a little deeper and discover what lies beneath. It’s a Mona Lisa smile, secretive and wise, drawing the viewer in and leaving them wanting more.

            He is quiet and unassuming, never pushy or loud. And like many people with Parkinson’s, he struggles with memory loss and confusion at times. He just rolls with it, never complaining, accepting his challenges with a grace and humor I have yet to discover.

            Shane is like an artichoke, many layered and complex with a hidden core. As I get to know him, the layers peel off, but I’ve yet to reach his center, as there is always another life experience or talent waiting to be revealed.   

            I first sensed he was truly an individual when we did a Pantomime exercise in our dance class. The topic was Thanksgiving and we all gave it our best, mimicking sweeping, pie baking and other mundane tasks. Our actions were simple and familiar, unremarkable at best. When it came to Shane, he sat inert, crouched into a ball, head down, in dejected silence. I think we all assumed he had tuned out or just didn’t get it. Far from the truth, as he explained he was mourning the Native American’s plight in a closet before he joined the dinner party. At that moment, I thought, this guy is someone I want to know more about.

            And that is what I’ve been doing over the last few months, getting to know Shane, one anecdote at a time. Since he no longer drives, we often give him a ride, entertained by his life stories along the way.

             The first discovery was his place of residence, unique and quirky, as he lives in the former Hare Krishna House in NE Portland, still sporting the Hare Hare Krishna above the door, a reminder of days gone by. And because this is Shane, there is more. His housemates and he registered the dwelling as a venue, providing a performance space for local and touring musicians. Of course, they put on their own shows, combining music, and poetry and stand up comedy. Shane, it seems, earned his living in Los Angeles as a stand up comic, poet and musician. I know you are thinking that anyone can call them self a poet, but in Shane’s case, it’s the absolute truth. His poem, Wanna Dance is beautiful, the rhythms and prose forming a dance of their own.

            I look forward to Mondays and the ride home, punctuated by another side of Shane.

            My favorite story has to be his time in Haight Asbury during its glory days, a lifelong fantasy of mine. Shane was a digger, along with the actor Peter Coyote. Every Wednesday they made soup from whatever they could scrounge to feed the kids in the park. The bands would set up on the back of a truck, playing for the crowd. Shane saw all the greats before fame changed them, the Dead, Joplin and Big Brother. Oh, what I would give to have been there.

             Yesterday was Monday and Shane did not disappoint. He is a comic, a poet and a musician, but that is not all. Shane is a painter. He’s showing his work this month at The Point (formerly The Yellow House, 9114 Ne Lombard) in North Portland. I can’t wait to see his show. I’m sure it will be enlightening, another glimpse into the world of Shane, a magical and fascinating place where many surprises await discovery!

Take A Stroll In The Other Guys Shoes/ Bringing Social Change Through Empathy

         Recently, I wrote a blog about empathy, a plea of sorts to our legislators in Washington, D.C., asking them to put themselves in the shoes of their constituents and act accordingly. But words don’t magically change lifelong beliefs or turn people into caring, compassionate individuals who are sensitive to the feelings, thoughts and situations of others. If it were that simple, the world would be a far different place with equal rights, justice, education, employment, housing and a decent standard of living for all of the world’s peoples. But we all know that that utopian world is only a dream at this point.

 

          So what is the solution? How do we change minds and foster empathy? Last night, I gained a little insight while watching The Rachel Maddow Show on MSNBC last night. The show’s timely topic; empathy and how it brings social change.

 

         It was a particularly pertinent subject this week because Republican Senator Rob Portman of Ohio became the first sitting Republican senator to publicly endorse gay marriage. It was a brave act in itself, made more significant by the fact that Senator Portman was the co-sponsor of the Defense Of Marriage Act in the 1990’s. This law defined marriage as a union of a man and a woman, making gay marriage illegal in the eyes of the federal government.

 

         Why the sudden change of heart you ask? The answer is simple and makes sense. Senator Portman suddenly found himself in another person’s shoes when his son came out.  It took two years of careful thought, but yesterday the senator made his position clear. If two individuals love each other and want to make a lifelong commitment, they should be free to do so, regardless of sexual orientation. He, like all parents, wants his son to have a happy life, including the right to marry the partner of his choice.

          It seems that more than one of our elected representatives in the nation has had a change of mind due to personal experience.

 

         Republican Senator Mark Kirk of Illinois is lobbying for increased state Medicaid funding since suffering a debilitating stroke, Republican Representative Paul Ryan from Wisconsin has been vocal with his support of Medicare citing the help his family received upon the death of his father and Governor Chris Christy of New Jersey is now a strong advocate for FEMA after his state was devastated by Hurricane Sandy.

 

         This inability to feel empathy without the benefit of personal experience is not confined to our politicians, but rather I think, a part of human nature.  It is difficult to imagine and grasp the struggles and predicaments of others, especially when they are so far removed from our own frame of reference. Yes, some people are more sensitive than others, but our own daily lives still greatly influence our beliefs, convictions and choices.

 

         I consider myself to be a kind person, willing to help friends, family and strangers when I see a need. But it took a journey to Ghana, a sweltering day, a walk down a sticker-filled bush trail and a good look at a filthy mud-hole (the village’s only water source), to make me understand the desperate need for clean water in developing countries. Before this, I simply had no idea of a life without clean water or the hardships that go with it. I have never gone without or felt desperate thirst my entire lifetime. Water is no big deal, but something we take for granted in the Western world. The images of that bog and the sheer joy of the village woman when their dream of a well became a reality still drive me to this day. Bringing clean water to those in dire need is my passion.

 

         Social change is slow and will continue to be so, if we depend on personal moments to foster empathy. But there are many in our neighborhoods, cities, states, nation and global community that have been waiting far too long. They need equal rights, equal opportunity, access to health care affordable housing, education, nutrition and potable water and they need it now. So I’m asking all of you to take a stroll in the other guy’s shoes and act accordingly. Let’s make room and ensure a place at the table for everyone.

Excuses, Excuses/ An Open Letter To Friends And Family/ People With PD Just Wanna Have Fun!

            My Mean Mistress PD Has been a little cranky the last week or so, leaving me more than a bit disappointed and anxious. I know I’ve reiterated this time and time again, but the real bitch of Parkinson’s is the unpredictability, as I never know what my physical state will be minute to minute, hour to hour, or day to day. Blah, blah blah, you’ve heard this before. Someone even admonished me last week that no one know can predict the future and everyone’s life is uncertain. I will agree with them, to a point.

 

            However, when they refer to their life as changeable at any moment, I know they can be reasonably confident of some basic assumptions, which individuals with PD can never count on.

 

1. Their legs will hold them up and not stage a nocturnal mutiny on the way to the bathroom.
2. They will be able to easily change positions in bed, not flop around like a beached whale when the night meds don’t kick in.
3. They can pull up their underwear in 10 seconds flat, without a second thought.
4. They don’t have to choose between breakfast and functioning, because meds work best on an empty stomach.
5. When dinner, the movie, or a play ends, they can stand up, negotiate the crowds and walk to the car, with ease and without what I call Performance Anxiety.
6. They will not freeze in the bathroom doorway of South Park, in full view of the diners. Now I know how that deer in the headlights feels.
7. But most of all, they can make plans with family and friends; being reasonably sure they can make it. A cold or sudden emergency may occur once in a while, but those times are few and far between.

 

            I don’t want this to turn into a pity party, as I neither want pity nor view myself as an object of woe. This blog came out of a conversation with my fellow Parkies today, an honest exchange of information and experience. It’s always helpful to talk to people with a common concern to gain insight and the realization that you aren’t crazy; it really is a side effect of your condition.

 

            One woman was relating the difficulty of keeping friends because of the overwhelming fatigue that seems to come on without warning, rendering her frozen and unable to function. When this occurs she has one choice, go to bed and sleep. She has cancelled many movie, dinner and lunch dates at the last moment, having no alternative. When she’s tired, her world stops, period. After a few of these last minute change of plans, some friends give up, maybe even thinking we are just avoiding them and using our PD as a convenient excuse.

 

            And that is the purpose of my blog, an open letter to the friends and family of folks with PD. When we cancel plans at the last second or refuse an invitation or offer (especially in the evening), it’s our Mean Mistress PD, not a desire to wiggle out of it.  We are dying inside, knowing we are missing out on the fun and your company. But realistically, we know our limits and the consequences if we ignore them, because when we are exhausted, we are exhausted, end of story.

 

             This last week, I have missed a movie date, cocktails and I do love my cocktails, two free play tickets and a dance party, and I don’t like it, not one little bit. But thanks to my amazingly supportive, compassionate and understanding friends, I know it’s not my last chance for fun and frolic. There are countless opportunities ahead of me and I intend to seize the day when I’m able and to try to accept when I’m not.

 

             Who knows, maybe my Mean Mistress will tire of the rain and go to Florida for Spring Break. Keep your fingers crossed.

Voting Rights Act Of 1965 Challenged Today/An Erosion Of Our Civil Rights

            I feel as if I’m in a time warp and I’m being pulled backwards. It’s the 60’s and 70’s all over again, but without the perks, just the downsides. The Summer of Love is but a memory, Haight Ashbury is just a neighborhood in San Francisco, and Jimmy, Janis and Jerry are silent, their voices only a faint echo. 

            This journey back in time is concerned only with the social and political issues of that era. The 60’s and 70’s were history making decades of protest, upheaval and social and political change. People fought long and hard, making many sacrifices, to advance the rights of minorities, the poor, the elderly and women. Like most Americans, I just assumed that the laws protecting our rights were here to stay, but I guess I was wrong.

            I woke up this morning to some disturbing news. The United States Supreme Court is hearing arguments today on Section 5 of the Voting Rights Act of 1965. The Preclearance Section requires states that have had a problem with discrimination at the polls to get permission from the federal government before that make any changes to their voting laws. These states contend that the law is outdated and unnecessary, as racism no longer exists and voter suppression is a problem of the past. This is ironic, because in the last election many voters in the South were turned away because of last minute photo identification requirements. In fact, a law was just passed in a Southern state-requiring voter ID at the polling place.  This requirement discriminates against many voters: the elderly, minorities and the poor.  This population often does not have a driver’s license or the means to obtain an accepted substitute.  Section 5 of the Voting Rights Act specifically protects the rights of these voters, ensuring they have an equal and fair opportunity to participate in the electoral process.

            Hearing the news, I thought, Oh well this is so ridiculous, just an exercise in futility, as it will never happen. This is the 21^st century, and we are past that. Apparently not, as MSNBC reported that the Voting Rights Act will likely not survive in its current form and will either be struck down or significantly altered.

            Where was I when all this was happening?  A decision that rolls back our civil rights to the repression of the1950’s is being determined today and I had no idea.  I’m sure most of the country’s citizens didn’t either.

            It’s ironic that this is also the day that President Obama dedicated the statue of Rosa Parks, the woman who bravely refused to give up her seat on the bus in Montgomery, starting the year-long boycott which ultimately ended segregation in the South.  And now on the same day, we face the real possibility that our voting rights will be curtailed, the very same rights people fought so hard for fifty years ago. Have we forgotten the marchers who braved the fire hoses, the people dragged from the lunch counter stools, the children who gracefully endured the taunts as they walked through the hallways of their new integrated school, or the women who walked miles to work for an entire year?

            I can’t help but wonder which of our civil liberties is next on the docket? A woman’s right to choose has been challenged for years, eroded by violence, protests, harassment and economic sanctions imposed on the providers.  Today, our voter rights protections are in serious jeopardy. What will it be tomorrow, next week, next month or next year; the right to assemble peacefully, the right to free speech or the right to a speedy trial with a jury of one’s peers? Inconceivable, you say. Yesterday, I would have agreed with you, but today I’m anything but complacent, having learned that nothing is sacred.

Letter To Washington/ Time To Change/ Try A Little Empathy

            Anyone who’s been watching the news since the inauguration is probably as frustrated as I am. Initially, it seemed as if the New Year would mean a new start, but here we are again, on the brink of another fiscal crisis, with both sides blaming the other.

         To paraphrase Rachael Maddow, this is the new way that the President and Congress operate. Rather than working together, collaborating and compromising and maybe even finding a creative solution or two in the process, they dig their heels in, draw the line and wait for someone to cry Uncle. There have too many self-made fiscal cliffs to count over the last four years. Last week, John Baynor bragged proudly to the press, “I won.”

         Those words caught my attention. Hey wait a minute, I thought, this sounds more like a playground dispute than adults working to resolve a huge issue, one that affects millions of people. It seems as if everyone has lost sight of their purpose, the real reason they are in our capitol, the position they were elected to and are paid for.

         A novel idea, do the job the people hired you to do. Politicians seem to have forgotten who they work for, you and I, and at this point I’m not a happy employer.

         I spent 30 years in the public school system and there was little or no time to argue, as money, time, staff, and resources were always in short supply. Thank God, we, for the most part, worked together, found common ground and did our best for those who mattered the most, our students and their families. Why were we able to accomplish this in the face of many obstacles, while our elected officials can’t get past the He did it, no he did, playground argument?

          I think part of the answer came to me last week when I got a nasty surprise in my afternoon mail. It was a claim statement from my insurance company, in fact, a denial. I, of course, called and it was no mistake, when I went to the ER in Texas, I was out of Network and my plan did not cover me.

          My health coverage had been so good over the last 30 years that I just assumed that all costs would be covered in full, no questions asked. But at that moment, I found myself standing in someone else’s shoes, those of the millions of uninsured in the U.S. and they were not a comfortable fit. They pinched, chafed and made me a little more than anxious. Anxious no, I was in full panic mode. Scenarios of financial ruin played through my head. I was so upset that I simply gave up and surrendered to the inevitable, the real possibility of paying a $5,000.00 plus ER bill out of pocket. Luckily my husband kept a cooler head and was able to resolve the situation. When he told me that all costs would be covered in full, I was incredibly grateful, almost giddy with relief. Thank, God, I’m saved.

         And then it struck me. This is what it feels like to be uninsured and it’s not a good feeling. In fact, it totally blows. I’d always supported health care for all, but when Obama decided to tax my health benefits to help fund the program, I balked. That isn’t fair, why should I pay for someone else? And now I know the answer. Because I’m one of the fortunate few and everyone deserves the same security. If it costs me a little, so what?  I’m still one lucky woman.

         At that moment, I felt empathy, the ability to identify with and understand the feelings, situation and motives of another individual, an emotion that I believe that our country could use more of. I realized that at times it is necessary to make a sacrifice for the common good, to give a hand up, to ensure that all have access to the basic needs of life.

         So I challenge the folks in Washington to follow suit. I’m willing to do my part, so now it’s your turn. Stop the playground scuffle, shake hands and behave like adults. Put yourselves in our place and make our health and welfare your first priority. It’s way past time to sit down, work hard and do the job we hired you to do; work together to get the country back on track. It won’t be easy, but as we all know from experience, a little compromise and cooperation goes a long way.